


The Pleasures of a Journey

by seashadows



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the weather unexpectedly cools, Bilbo Baggins gets her greatest desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pleasures of a Journey

  
  
Bilbo Baggins enjoyed a good bath. Even if that bath _was_ in the middle of a summer cool snap, and the water from the wash-bucket was so cold that it made her gasp, and it was just a sponge bath to begin with. But they were all a bit rank after this last week of travel, herself included, and she wasn’t stupid enough to plunge in the nearest stream and freeze absolutely everything off.  
  
However, standing behind their current campsite – just far enough that the trees would hide her - with a bucket of water, stark naked and scrubbing herself with a washrag no cleaner than she was, seemed little better. “Oh!” she gasped, squeezing the rag over her breasts and wiping them clean. It was absolutely _indecent_ how many chill-bumps had popped up all over her skin, and how hard her nipples were. If she didn’t at least sponge herself down, though, she wouldn’t be able to bear her own smell any longer.  
  
The lack of a handkerchief was bad enough, but she couldn’t stomach smelling like the rest of the men in the company…although she couldn’t smell much when Thorin was about, thank goodness for that. Maybe it helped that the two of them were the only woman in a bunch of stinking male Dwarves, _literally_ stinking. Shaking her head, Bilbo grimly sponged her soft, round belly and squeezed her eyes shut when shivers ran down to the tips of her toes.  
  
All the others thought she was crazy. “You’d best keep your warmth and be a bit smelly,” Glóin had advised her, much to the others’ amusement, as she started for the edge of the woods, wrapped in a spare rag, with the overflowing bucket. “A cold hobbit’s no use to us, and me wife doesn’t seem to mind a bit!”  
  
“Well,” Bilbo had replied as primly as she could, “I’m not your wife, Master Glóin, and no mistake. With no disrespect to her, of course.” Of course, nearly everyone had howled with laughter at that, but no one had tried to stop her. Thank goodness for that, at least.  
  
She squeezed the washrag again and hissed through her teeth as cold water ran down her stomach and between her legs. It felt as though every drop of that was gathering in her warmest places and freezing them solid – was being clean really worth it, if she had to shiver all day for the privilege? Her nipples were so hard that they hurt, for one thing, and she had no idea how she would be able to put a shirt on without feeling them throb.  
  
“Burglar.”  
  
Bilbo squeaked, dropped her washrag, and clutched herself around the chest, forgetting entirely about washing her neck. “Thorin?” Oh, she hoped there wasn’t an attack going on – and her in her birthday suit, too! Even the Bullroarer would be rolling in his grave.  
  
“Yes.” Hearing the amused tone in Thorin’s voice, Bilbo looked up to see Thorin standing a good few feet away from her. The Dwarf’s arms were crossed, feet planted squarely apart in her usual stance as the cold wind blew through her braided hair. “I wanted to make sure you hadn’t wandered away or been eaten, Mistress Baggins. The forest is dangerous for a Hobbit.”  
  
“I can take care of myself,” Bilbo replied. Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to say that, with her whole body stiffened up from the wind, but no matter. “And I haven’t been gone so very long, have I?”  
  
“Not so very long,” Thorin said, “but we don’t want you to freeze.” She paused. “And neither do I.”  
  
“Of course. Then you’ll have no one to burgle for you.” Bilbo wrapped her arms around herself and very fervently wished that she had brought a towel with her, or even had one on this journey. “Well, I think I might need to finish bathing. It’s too cold out here.”  
  
Thorin nodded. “Dry off, then rejoin the rest of us.”  
  
Was she _dim?_ “I’ve got nothing to dry off with,” Bilbo replied. Her wet curls, washed first with water very laboriously poured over her head, stuck icily to the back of her neck and made her wince as she shook her head. “I mean, nothing but my shirt.”  
  
Thorin’s mouth twitched in her beard. “Beginning to rethink the wisdom of a bath, are you, Burglar?”  
  
Bilbo snorted. “Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t say anything to the others!” The wind gusted against her wet skin again and roared in her ears. “I’ll smell a bit better than they do, even if I’m cold.”  
  
“Hm.” Thorin pushed a few strands of her hair out of her face, tucking them behind one ear. Bilbo watched the path of her hand – was her palm rough with calluses, she wondered, or smooth? “You’ll sicken out here. If you want to, you may dry yourself in my tent.”  
  
“What?” As far as Bilbo knew, _no one_ was allowed in Thorin’s tent but her, and it looked barely big enough for the Dwarf as it was. The rest of them had to contend with bedrolls, but she’d supposed that was the price of traveling with the future King Under the Mountain – inequality in sleeping arrangements. “I couldn’t possibly! It’s terribly undignified.”  
  
Thorin held up a hand. “That’s of no consequence to me. I may warm this company’s burglar up as I like, and it will be dignified.”  
  
Bilbo blinked. “Well, that’s very kind of you, but I meant it might be undignified for –“ _Me._  
  
Of course, as she had been on the verge of doing this entire conversation, Thorin interrupted her. “It will _not_ be.” She walked to Bilbo (oh, so close – Bilbo imagined she could feel the heat of Thorin’s body jumping to hers) and lifted a hand, as though to touch her arm. “You have gooseflesh on your arms. Come, before you freeze.”  
  
“I…oh…well, all right.” Bilbo stared at her feet and felt her cheeks heat up. She was quite sure she’d do something stupid, maybe say something untoward or accidentally touch Thorin as she was drying off, and then Thorin would hate her even more than she undoubtedly did already.  
  
“What?” Thorin had turned on her heel, but now she turned back around. “Are you worried that the others will see you with nothing on? I assure you, Mistress Baggins, they’ll say nothing if I tell them not to.”  
  
Well, now, Thorin was either being willingly blind or unwillingly so, but Bilbo would have none of it. “Don’t you think it’s a bit off to have a lot of hulking great male Dwarves staring at my front?” she said. “I don’t know how it is with Dwarves, but in the Shire, even I’d never do such a thing.”  
  
“Even you?”  
  
“I’m a bit peculiar, and everyone knows it, but I’m a proper gentlehobbit.” Bilbo wrapped her arms tightly around her ribs, which helped fend off the cold wind, but unfortunately only served to push her full breasts up towards her collarbone.  
  
“A _proper_ gentlehobbit, then.” Thorin rolled her eyes. “Perhaps this will keep you from the wicked wandering eyes of my Company.” She reached up and slid her coat off, then wrapped it around Bilbo’s shoulders.  
  
And right then, the most peculiar of Bilbo’s tendencies – that is, the fact that she would choose Lobelia over Otho if they were the only two hobbits left in the world – made itself very known between her legs. Her damp shoulders tingled where the rough fibers of Thorin’s fur coat pressed against the skin, and her toes curled against the cold ground as she drew the coat closely around her. “Thank you,” she said, ducking her chin down into the warm fur.  
  
“It’s no trouble. Now, come with me, and I will have you dry yourself in the most…” Thorin paused, the expression on her face that of one who desperately wants to say something so sarcastic that it would drop her down a few social notches. “… _dignified_ manner possible.” She turned again, this time not turning back. “Are you coming?”  
  
Bilbo clutched Thorin’s coat, which dragged on the ground, around her as the Dwarf led her through the fringe of thin, scrubby trees back to the edge of their campsite. The others were all bundled and huddled down into their clothing, apparently having taken the same effect from the wind that Bilbo had. Ori, who was noting something down on parchment, was the most exposed – and only his face, neck, and hands touched the air.  
  
“It’s terribly raw out, isn’t it? Strange for summer,” Ori said in a conversational tone from his spot on a convenient tree stump. His eyes widened. “Does something ail you, Mistress Baggins?”  
  
“Oh, nothing,” Bilbo said. “Only I’ve gotten a bit chilled during my bath, and Thorin is allowing me space to dry off away from everyone’s eyes.” She gripped her coat more tightly around her body. Ori didn’t seem like the type to jest about a naked hobbit, but one never knew.  
  
“Come, burglar,” Thorin said, and bent down in front of the flap covering the entrance to her small tent. “Come in, and you can dry off away from everyone’s glances.”  
  
“Except yours, I suppose,” Bilbo said, ducking down. She’d been a bit miffed since the start of this quest, really, about this. Bilbo didn’t get a tent, nor Fili and Kili, but Thorin was royal _and_ a woman, so the ponies had to lug her poles and cover along with the rest of the things – and Bilbo had to lie still and listen to everyone snoring and farting and such. For the second time today, she wished _she_ could sleep there, too.  
  
Thorin closed the flap behind them and climbed in. Whatever her motivations were, at least the tent wasn’t overlarge; Bilbo had to give that to her. The small space was crowded nearly to bursting with just the both of them. “Well?” Thorin prodded, her voice sharp and impatient. “Are you going to take my coat off, or do you mean to wear it until it grows onto you?”  
  
“Of course I don’t,” Bilbo said, and shrugged the coat off her shoulders as she sat down on Thorin’s bedroll. If she left a wet spot on it, well, Thorin would have to deal with the consequences, because she wasn’t about to stand shivering.  
  
Thorin snorted. “Are you too proud to disrobe in front of me, Mistress Hobbit? Are you so very vulnerable?”  
  
“It’s nothing to do with being vulnerable!” Bilbo said. “It’s simply…” Well, maybe it _was_ about being vulnerable, because she didn’t want Thorin to look at her nude, look at her body with scorn when Bilbo wished more than anything that she’d look at it with _longing_. “It’s…” She had to think of something to tell her! Bilbo shook her head and said the first thing she could think of. “If I take your coat off completely, then I’ll be cold, and I haven’t got my clothes in here to warm me up.”  
  
Silence. _Bilbo, you dimwit._ Thorin could see that herself, if anything!  
  
“Hm.” Thorin’s mouth twitched, then spread slowly into a smile. “Would you wish for _me_ to warm you, Mistress Baggins, instead of my coat?”  
  
Bilbo wasn’t quite sure if the smile or the words surprised her more, but she couldn’t do more than stutter. “Wh-what?”  
  
Thorin folded her arms again. “Pardon my intrusion, but among Dwarves, when a woman looks at another the way I’ve seen you look at me, and doesn’t mind if another woman sees her naked body, she would not object to that woman warming her.”  
  
“I – I –“ Bilbo’s mouth hung open, her face flushing hot. The touch of Thorin’s bed-furs on her bare thighs was suddenly far too prickly and warm. “What in the world, Thorin?”  
  
“To begin with,” Thorin said, smiling through her beard, “my face is cold, too.”  
  
“What exactly is _that_ supposed to –“ Bilbo began indignantly, but then logic caught up with her. Warming her face. “ _Oh_.”  
  
“Are you so innocent, Burglar, that you know nothing of what I mean?” Thorin said. “I have difficulty believing that even Hobbits such as you are ignorant of the ways of the body.”  
  
“I’ve got – of _course_ I know, but…” Bilbo found herself sputtering, and blushing even brighter and hotter when she remembered _how_ she’d learned what Thorin meant. Those bits of parchment hidden under her bed at Bag End, bought for a coin or two from the peddlers for the luxury of a kept secret and a stroke or two under the covers with her own hand. There had been a Dwarf sketched on at least one of those pieces of parchment, kneeling between the legs of an Elf or a Man. A bearded Dwarf…  
  
Bilbo gulped and clenched her thighs tightly together. Thorin’s grin widened; it seemed she was enjoying herself, at least, watching Mistress _Burglar_ make a fool of herself. “You mean you wish to…”  
  
“Since the night I met you,” Thorin interrupted. “I wished to soothe your ruffled temper and quiet you with my mouth upon your passage.”  
  
“ _Which_ passage, exactly?” Bilbo said. One was rather cleaner than the other, and if Thorin thought she was about to -  
  
Thorin leaned close and touched one of Bilbo’s thighs with her hand. “Your wet passage,” she said. “I can smell it, Mistress Baggins. The passage that would welcome my tongue.”  
  
Bilbo drew in a breath with a sharp gasp. “Yes,” she said. It was all she could say, for it was true, and of course Thorin knew it. The Dwarf’s hand was warm as it squeezed her thigh, fingertips stroking her skin. “Thorin.”  
  
“Yes?” Thorin’s grin was downright _wicked_ , but her voice was oddly gentle. “May I quiet you now, Bilbo? I fear if I listen to you jabbering at me any longer, your scent will make me lose control of myself.”  
  
Bilbo swallowed, and nodded. “Yes.” She rubbed her hand across her sweating forehead. “Please.”  
  
Thorin, too, brought a hand up to her face, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. “I will.” Her voice had deepened and turned smoky, and Bilbo squirmed to hear it. “Show me, Bilbo. Take my coat off fully and let me see you.”  
  
Bilbo could feel her breath coming quickly now. She breathed out, hard, and slipped her arms out of the coat, too, pushing it to the side so that she was completely naked. “Do you – do you want me to lie down?”  
  
Thorin answered her with a kiss. The Dwarf king’s beard scratched Bilbo’s cheeks as their lips met, and Bilbo felt Thorin pushing her slowly down onto her back on the bedroll, breasts pressing against each other through Thorin’s shirt. They were soft; Bilbo could feel that, although she guessed her own were a bit bigger. “ _Bilbo_ ,” Thorin murmured.  
  
“Yes,” Bilbo whispered back, automatically, between moist presses of Thorin’s lips against hers.  
  
Thorin pulled back a little, staring down into Bilbo’s face. Her blue eyes were so deeply dilated that Bilbo could see her own reflection in the blackness of her pupils. “I can wait no longer, burglar. You moan so enticingly, and I need to bring you to completion, or I believe I may die.”  
  
“Yes,” Bilbo repeated. “Yes, yes, Thorin, _please_!” She didn’t care that she was begging the proud King under the Mountain for this; she didn’t even care that – “What about the others? Won’t they hear?”  
  
Thorin kissed Bilbo’s neck, then the valley between her breasts, her bristly beard tickling the heated skin unbearably. Bilbo shivered, feeling her nipples harden. “You are a fine fat Hobbit,” Thorin said between kisses. “Very soft and round.” She licked over the curve of one breast, then flicked the nipple with the tip of her tongue.  
  
Bilbo squeaked, a high sound – almost a hiccup. “Thorin!”  
  
“ _Mmm_.” Thorin’s tongue worked Bilbo’s nipple in a circle before her lips met it in a firm, sucking kiss. “If you want the others not to hear you,” she said as she pulled away, “then either you must silence yourself – or I will do it.”  
  
“And by silence,” Bilbo said, “you mean you’ll lick…” How was it that she couldn’t bring herself to say the word when Thorin was lying on top of her, licking her breasts? _Oh_ , and now she had moved on to the other breast. Bilbo’s head tipped back and she bit her lower lip.  
  
Thorin wiggled Bilbo’s nipple again, this time with two fingertips, and rested her chin on Bilbo’s stomach. “You make the most enticing noises,” she said, and kissed Bilbo’s belly. Her eyes were bright and shiny, and the parts of her cheeks that Bilbo could see above her dark beard were pink. “Your smell is stronger now.”  
  
“Well!” Bilbo cleared her throat. This was hardly the time for propriety, but a gentlehobbit never let her manners lapse. “That’s – that’s to be expected. Are you going to…”  
  
“Yes, burglar, I will. Did I not promise?” Thorin stroked her thighs. “Spread your legs, Bilbo.”  
  
Bilbo complied, shivering when she felt cool air in the gap of her inner lips. Even when she touched herself, it was under the cover of her bedclothes – not nearly this open, or this bold.  
  
But she didn’t shiver for more than a moment, not for that reason. Within a heartbeat, Thorin’s face was buried between her legs, and the gasp she let out was for a different reason entirely. The scratch of Thorin’s beard, which had felt so unbearably ticklish on the sensitive skin of her breasts, tickled in a far more intense way now. Bilbo whimpered and spread wider.  
  
Thorin chuckled, and Bilbo almost hiccupped as the Dwarf king drew back just far enough to breathe hotly on her skin. “Your bead is swollen,” she said. “I can see it easily.”  
  
“M-my bead?”  
  
“Yes. A beautiful bead.” Thorin nudged her nose against it. “You are very pink, burglar, like the finest tourmaline Erebor’s jewelers ever worked.” The tip of her nose touched that place again – Bilbo supposed ‘bead’ was as good a word as any, since she’d never been one to gossip about terms with the other ladies – and pressed down, just slightly, as Thorin gently licked the entrance to her passage open.  
  
“Hold still,” Thorin said. She wound her hands under Bilbo’s thighs, callused palms steady against the skin. Bilbo had seen those hands hold a sword for what looked like hours when she sparred with Fíli or Dwalin, so she knew exactly how strong they were. Such strength, and Thorin was so tender, although she didn’t suppose ‘tender’ was the best way to describe Thorin’s tongue sliding in and out of her.  
  
“You d-don’t mind the taste, then,” she said, her voice high and shaky.  
  
Thorin’s answer was a hum of negation, and a fingertip coming up to join her nose as it rubbed Bilbo’s bead in steady, circling strokes. Bilbo whimpered high in her throat at the sensation of those calluses, and rolled her hips down for more pressure. “Yes,” she said.  
  
“Yes,” Thorin replied, a laugh in her voice. “Finally, you ask me for something.” She bestowed the same sort of deep, sucking kiss on Bilbo’s wet flesh as she had given to her breasts – Bilbo couldn’t stop herself from grabbing the Dwarf’s thick hair.  
  
“I _know_ ,” she gasped, “I _know_ you’re going to say you’re not a pony, but I _can’t_ stop, Thorin.”  
  
“I wouldn’t ask you to.” Thorin returned her mouth to Bilbo’s bead, sucking it hard and sliding her finger slowly into her passage.  
  
As the sucking pressure slowly increased, Bilbo felt her calves and toes tense tighter and tighter, heels lightly hitting Thorin’s bedroll - _especially_ when Thorin slid another finger inside her, slow and gentle as ever. She knew the noises she made were far more reminiscent of Bifur’s Khuzdul curses than anything respectable, but she couldn’t help it. That mouth, which had so far only insulted her and shouted orders, felt too good.  
  
Then there was another feeling under the pleasure, a tightening she knew. It didn’t happen every time she touched herself, but she’d released often enough to know how it felt when she built to it. “ _Thorin_!”  
  
“Mm?” Thorin didn’t take her face away this time.  
  
“I’m – I’m - _oh!_ ” Her head slammed back and she cried out, screamed even. Probably every Dwarf in the camp could hear her, but it was as though one of Gandalf’s fireworks had been let off inside her hips, inside her passage, everywhere. Almost unaware of it, she yanked Thorin’s hair hard and hit her heels against the blanket with all the strength in her legs.  
  
Then it was over, and she lay back as her breath shuddered deeply in and out of her chest. “ _Oh_ ,” she said again, and looked down the length of her body into Thorin’s eyes. “I…I _couldn’t_ be more satisfied, Mistress Thorin.”  
  
“Hmph,” Thorin grunted. Her color was high, too, and the smile on her face seemed to come from another feeling than simple triumph or satisfaction. “You are enticing, burglar,” she said. “I’ve touched myself all through this.”  
  
Bilbo knew she wasn’t as well-versed in sexual subtlety as the rest of the Dwarves liked to think they were, but she knew how to take a hint. “Well, then!” She sat up, feeling her breasts bounce, and looked down at Thorin. “Shall I do for you what you did for me?”  
  
“Yes.” Not even a ‘please,’ of course, but Bilbo hadn’t expected one. Thorin raised her arms over her head and stripped her shirt off, exposing her broad shoulders, the black hair under her strongly muscled arms, and a pair of breasts that made Bilbo shiver and cross her legs. The Dwarf’s nipples were tight and pebbled, their brown color dark enough to stand out against Thorin’s pale skin. “You need not touch me,” Thorin said, “not if you don’t wish to.”  
  
“What, bring you off without even a kiss? What sort of Hobbit do you think I am?” Bilbo said indignantly, reaching forward and cupping Thorin’s breasts in her hands. They were just as soft and heavy as she’d imagined, and Thorin’s nipples were velvety soft when she touched them with her thumbs.  
  
Thorin jumped in place a little and let out a choked noise through her teeth. Bilbo grinned. “Not touch you, the very idea,” she said, rubbing Thorin’s nipples in hard circles. It might have been decades since anyone’s hands other than hers had touched her body, but she hadn’t forgotten what gave one pleasure. “Not kiss you! I’d never neglect that.” She kissed the space between Thorin’s breasts, then down the lightly-haired skin of her stomach. Thorin’s belly wasn’t as ample as hers, but it was still rounded and healthy with its layers of muscles and fat. She’d marvel at her strength if she had a spare moment, but this wasn’t the time.  
  
“Stop gawking,” Thorin growled, “and get on with it.”  
  
“Yes, yes.” Bilbo took a moment to kiss Thorin’s navel, stroking her hands down Thorin’s belly and thighs as slowly as she could. “This would be far easier if you would take off your trousers,” she remarked.  
  
“Of course.” Thorin kicked off her boots and lifted her legs, then pulled her trousers off. “How very… _thoughtless_ of me.”  
  
Bilbo swallowed, unable to reply right away. Thorin’s thighs and hips were as curved and strong as the rest of her, and the sight of the dark hair between them – as well as the thought of what lay beneath it – made her mouth water. “No,” she finally said. “How terribly thoughtless of _me_ to leave you lying here, Thorin.” She knelt down and laid her hands on Thorin’s thighs. “Oh, my. I see you’re bearded in two places.”  
  
“Poke fun as you like, Bilbo, but don’t just _stare_.” Thorin’s stomach jiggled as she let out a low laugh.  
  
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Bilbo brought her face down close between Thorin’s legs and spread her apart with her thumbs. The Dwarf’s bead was more pendant than bead, fleshy and almost triangular in its hood, and deeply pink. “Oh, you _do_ want me to touch you.”  
  
“You don’t need to sound so pleased with yourself.” Thorin spread her legs wider apart, and stiffened when a twig cracked outside the tent. “Hm. If they’re listening, then we _both_ need to be quiet.”  
  
If that was a jab at how she’d screamed, well, Bilbo wasn’t about to rise to the bait. “You’re responsible for that,” she said instead, and bent her head down to reciprocate Thorin’s deep licks.  
  
Thorin immediately drew in her breath and tightened her thighs around Bilbo’s head. She smelled of arousal and deep musk, and despite the fact that she’d come all over herself just minutes before, Bilbo slipped a hand between her own legs as she licked Thorin. She felt very un-Hobbitlike at the moment - _rutting_ in front of the entire Company with only a tent separating them, but she didn’t think she’d be able to stop if her life was on the line.  
  
Neither could Thorin, it seemed. She’d been telling the truth about touching herself; Bilbo didn’t know how long it took, but it seemed only a few minutes before Thorin groaned and shook, and came, bathing Bilbo’s face in wetness that she eagerly cleaned away with her tongue.  
  
“Did I,” she began as she pulled away, breathing heavily, “do well enough for you?” Compared to Thorin’s warmth, the inside of the tent seemed unbearably cold.  
  
By way of an answer, Thorin pulled her into her arms, burying Bilbo’s face between her breasts and kissing her forehead. “Magnificently,” she said, her voice husky.  
  
“Was that worthy of the King Under the Mountain?” It was a sly thing to say, but somehow, she didn’t think Thorin would care.  
  
Thorin squeezed her. “Watch your tongue, Burglar. The _King Under the Mountain_ commands you.” She propped herself up on one elbow and turned her head towards the tent flap. “As we’ll need to remember when they begin to remark on this.”  
  
Bilbo hadn’t thought she could flush any deeper after what they’d just done, but her face heated up again anyhow. “They wouldn’t!”  
  
“They would.” Thorin nodded. “But I’ll quiet them, if they offend your sensibilities.”  
  
“Not the same way you quieted _me_ , I assume!” Bilbo laid her head on Thorin’s shoulder as the Dwarf lay back down.  
  
“No, no.” Thorin chuckled and touched Bilbo’s hair, then sat up again, reaching for her shirt. “I warrant that no one else will be quieted that way.” She picked up her spare shirt and held it out to Bilbo. “This will do until you can find your own clothing again.”  
  
Bilbo smiled and pulled the shirt over her head. It smelled like Thorin. “I’ll hold you to that.”


End file.
